


forget you

by jetplane



Series: Whumptober 2020 [26]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Character Death, Disabled Character, Gen, Head Injury, Memory Loss, Permanent Injury, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:13:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27280261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetplane/pseuds/jetplane
Summary: Hotch develops amnesia. And then bad things start to happen.(major character death is not described in detail, but there is more than one in this story)prompts: if you thought the head trauma was bad... and concussion (day 26)
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & David Rossi, Aaron Hotchner & Jack Hotchner
Series: Whumptober 2020 [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946050
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	forget you

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place somewhere between seasons 7 and 10. At the beginning of the story, Hotch and Morgan are both still at the BAU, Prentiss has returned, and Haley is dead. Some aspects of the timeline may have gotten tangled; I hope you'll forgive me for that. 
> 
> Yeah, this story kind of ran away from me (I told myself I'd write fewer character deaths because nobody likes them but then ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯) and it also ends very abruptly. But it's almost the time I should be waking up and I haven't gone to sleep yet, so this is what I've got. I might also change the title of this story and/or edit it after Whumptober is over.

It was just another case, with an unsub who managed to land a couple of blows on Hotch and knocked him out. He seemed a bit confused when he regained consciousness, but the doctor at the emergency room said that it was just a concussion and sent him home the next day. Two weeks later, when Hotch still couldn’t remember the day of the week or what he’d eaten for breakfast, Jessica drove him to a neurologist who told them that short-term memory issues were common with head injuries and usually resolved themselves. He reluctantly put in for an extended medical leave and tried to look on the bright side - he’d be able to spend a lot more time with Jack.

Not that he could enjoy much of it. A month passed, then another, and Hotch could still barely remember anything since his injury despite doctors saying that nothing should be wrong. He woke up at least twice a week thinking he was supposed to go to work, and several times drove all the way to the office only to need someone to explain to him that he was on leave. After the fifth time this happened, Hotch put up notes in his bedroom and on the front door that read: **You had a head injury and now you’re on medical leave.** It took two more months before he was able to reliably remember this on his own.

What frustrated Aaron most was that his amnesia was inconsistent, leaving confusing gaps. It wasn’t like the movies where a character’s memory was cleanly reset at the start of each day. Instead, Hotch could remember that he had a doctor’s appointment one day but not the next, or recall the plot of a book he’d read three weeks prior but then forget he hadn’t eaten in the past twenty-four hours. On the recommendation of one of his doctors, he began keeping a “memory notebook” to keep track of his day-to-day activities. Reid tried to encourage Hotch by telling him that studies on people with memory loss had shown that writing could help with cognitive rehabilitation, but it was hard for him to take much comfort in that. Shortly after the six-month anniversary of his injury, after receiving heavy pressure from the Bureau, Hotch permanently retired from the BAU. Although his functioning had shown moderate improvement thanks to daily therapy and a host of ways to compensate for his gaps in memory, Aaron’s medical team agreed that he was never going to be able to return to the field.

After leaving the BAU, Hotch briefly considered renewing his license to practice law. His memories of being a prosecutor were unimpaired, and he figured that with a few accommodations, he’d be able to return to the job or at least to the field of law in some capacity. He even went as far as passing the first round of interviews with a prosecutor’s office. But it didn’t take him long to remember why he had quit practicing in the first place. Reading about crimes only after they had been committed made Aaron depressed, and he constantly found himself thinking about the victims that could have been spared had an unsub been caught sooner. This in turn only caused more frustration over his inability to return to the BAU.

For the next few months, he tried to keep himself busy by drifting aimlessly between trivial hobbies and interests. Then, Garcia caught wind of a position opening up at the FBI Academy. In a strange reversal of roles, Hotch found himself with six letters of recommendation, one from each of his former subordinates. The Bureau decided to grant him the job on a trial basis, and within weeks he had turned that into a permanent position.

At first, Aaron had been skeptical about returning to the FBI. He was constantly reminded of what he had lost, not just by his position but also by trainees who always wanted to ask about his career-ending injury. But he came to find satisfaction in his job. Hotch decided that if he wasn’t going to be able to save any more lives, the next best thing would be to train the people who could. Being a Bureau employee once again afforded him a level of clearance that allowed him to occasionally consult on cases. Better yet, the Academy’s location in Quantico meant that he could even meet with his former team for lunch when they were in town. While he still struggled with his short-term memory, and on several occasions started to give the same lecture verbatim two days in a row, Hotch had come a long way in his recovery.

Two years after he started working at the FBI Academy, Hotch was approached by Rossi. He was getting too old to work in the field, and he knew the Bureau was going to start asking him to transition to a desk job. Rossi didn’t want to be stuck in an office for the rest of his life. At the end of the year, which was only three months away, he planned to retire and work part-time at the Academy. He wanted to spend the rest of his time writing another book, this one bringing the spotlight off the killers and onto the people they’d killed. And he wanted Hotch to help him with it. If he was comfortable, Dave wanted Aaron to write about Foyet’s victims, including his own family. Jessica and Jack both supported this endeavour, and Hotch quickly signed onto the project.

Aaron was so excited to be working alongside his old friend once again that he could barely sleep that night. He wrote about it in his journal almost every single day after that. **Dave is going to retire from the BAU so he can teach at the Academy. We’re going to publish a book together about serial killers’ victims, and I’m going to write a chapter about Haley.** When December came around, Hotch started writing down the number of days until they could begin.

The book never happened. Twelve days before Dave’s planned retirement, the BAU joined forces with the FBI Counterterrorism Division to stop a right-wing extremist group from carrying out a series of bombings on the campus of a university. They were able to capture all of the terrorists alive and defuse the bombs before any civilians were injured. But they didn’t anticipate that the group’s secondary headquarters would be rigged to the teeth with explosives. The house was obliterated exactly thirty seconds after the door opened.

Hotch was giving a lesson on interrogation techniques at the time. He knew something was wrong by the looks in his students’ eyes, and the trainee with the worst death-notification skills of the class ended up breaking the news to him. Rossi and Prentiss had both been killed instantly, while Reid flatlined in the ambulance and never came back. Alvez and Lewis were in critical condition but eventually recovered, while JJ sustained catastrophic internal bleeding and spent the next three months in a coma. Ironically, it was Hotch who had to explain what had happened after she woke up.

Everything was downhill from there. Hotch’s mental state worsened at an alarming rate, and within a matter of weeks, he could no longer be trusted to take care of himself. Doctors ran more tests, which all came back with nothing, and ultimately chalked it up to an unfortunate long-term effect of his injury. Aaron was only vaguely aware of what was happening during that time, but he knew he wasn’t going to get better. On one of his more lucid days, he signed over Jack’s guardianship to Jessica. Not wanting to feel like a burden, he chose a care facility three hours away from Quantico. Hotch didn’t want his son to grow up under the shadow of his condition.

On a quiet summer morning, Jack made the three-hour drive. He knocked on a door and was greeted by one of his father’s caregivers. “Hi,” he said. “I’m - I’m Jack Hotchner. My dad is Aaron Hotchner and he, um, lives here. I was hoping to visit him?”

He nodded. “Of course. I can take you to see him now.” Jack nodded and gave the man an awkward half-smile. He followed him into the house and down a hallway.

“Your father should be in his room,” the caretaker explained.

“Do you, um, know how he’s doing? How much he...remembers?” Jack asked.

“I think he’s having a good day. He’ll be glad to see you.” He glanced over his shoulder at the boy following him. “He keeps your picture all over his room.”

“He does?” But Hotch’s caretaker didn’t have a chance to answer before they’re standing in front of an open doorway. Aaron sat inside, flipping through the pages of a book. “Dad?”

Hotch looked up and frowned when he saw his son. Then he glanced at one of the photos on his wall. His expression brightened after he read the note pinned underneath. “You’re Jack?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, uh, it’s me,” he confirmed, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot before taking a few hesitant steps into the room. Luckily, he didn’t have long to wonder what to do, because just then his father got up to hug him.

“You’ve grown up so much,” Hotch remarked once he had a chance to look at his son up close. Then he shook his head. “I’m sure I’ve said that before; it’s just…I can’t remember. I’m sorry.”

A lump formed in Jack’s throat. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize.” He caught a glimpse of the image his father was looking at before. It contained three photos of himself - one showing Jack when he was just a baby, another at around seven years old, and a third that was taken about a year ago. The boy read the note underneath. **Jack is your son. This is what he looks like now.** He pulled his eyes away to look at the book his father had been holding. “Is this one of your journals?” he asked. Hotch nodded. Looking around, Jack could see a whole shelf of similar notebooks, all labelled with dates. “Which one is this?”

Hotch checked the spine of his notebook, then looked through a few of the pages. “This is the one before I moved here,” he surmised. “When I was working at the Academy.” He stopped on one entry and frowned, then crossed the room to look at his collection of books.

“What are you looking for?” Jack asked.

“My book,” Hotch replied, bending down to check the bottom shelves of the bookcase.

He spots a couple of books on his side of the room and picks them up. “Which book?”

“My book.” When Jack still looked confused, he elaborated. “The one I wrote with Dave.”

The boy froze. He’d prepared answers to a lot of questions, but that wasn’t one of them. He hadn’t even thought about that in a long time. “What?”

Aaron held up his journal. “It says that Dave and I were writing a book together. Why don’t I have a copy of it?”

“Uh...I’m - I’m not sure,” Jack stammered, stalling for time. “Are you sure you don’t have it?” The father shook his head. “Maybe you lost it?”

Some of the tension released from Hotch’s forehead. “That makes sense.” He looked at the notes around the bookshelf. “I guess I forgot to write that down. Can you bring me another copy?”

“Yeah I - I can bring you another copy of your book. I’ll order one on Amazon as soon as I get home,” he said.

Hotch shook his head. “No, don’t buy it online. You know how Spencer is always talking about those tiny bookstores and how they need more business? Ask him for the name of one of them.”

Jack was lying in the wooden chest by his father’s desk again, and it was suffocating him. “I will,” he replied.

Aaron glanced at his watch, then gave Jack a puzzled look. “Don’t you have school today? You should go; you’re going to be late.” He patted down his pockets as he ushered his son to the door. “I’ll drive you. Where are my keys?”

“Dad…” He searched for a note somewhere around the room that would help explain the situation, but he came up empty. “You don’t have to drive me. I - I have a ride.”

Hotch breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. Good.” He kissed his son’s forehead. “I love you. Don’t ever forget that.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't already noticed, it's going to take a small miracle for me to finish all thirty-one stories by the end of Whumptober. But several of my stories covered more than one prompt, so hopefully, I'll at least be able to make it to thirty-one that way. If you have any story suggestions, comments, or criticisms, please drop them in the comments or send them to me at jet-plane.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you have a wonderful day!


End file.
